


Bastards and Broken Things

by greenW0LF8



Series: Can't Without You [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, emotionally vulnerable Arya, what-if S8 scenario
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 04:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16926687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenW0LF8/pseuds/greenW0LF8
Summary: A one-shot where Arya loses some of her confidence after Jon sees what she can do as a Faceless Man. Good thing a certain smith is there to "knock" some sense back into her.





	Bastards and Broken Things

Sansa had always been good at hiding her feelings, but not Jon. It was one of the many things Arya loved about her older brother.

Except in this moment when his face showed disbelief, horror practically crawling into his eyes when she took off her borrowed face.

Although she showed no emotion, she was suddenly overcome with shame. In that instant she wished she could just disappear. That she could jump on a horse and ride out into the Wolfswood.

But there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. Her faces couldn’t save her, and suddenly she felt more exposed then ever as she stood in Winterfell’s Great Hall. She felt like she was drowning.

 _They think I’m a monster_ , and within moments memories flooded her mind. The name calling and insults from her youth came first. Then the laughter. But she kept up her façade, her hand subconsciously clenching the face harder.

Most of the Queen’s advisors had some type of fear written all over their faces. The Queen herself looked somewhat fascinated, maybe a hint of wariness.

Sansa on the other hand had something else in her eyes. A smugness, Arya quickly realized, which made her want to throw her sister into a wall.

Arya turned her attention to her brother’s advisor, Davos, who she didn’t know well, but it somewhat calmed her to see that the man simply looked worried. He, like some of the Queen’s advisors, were probably familiar with tales of the Faceless Men.

In a couple seconds the Northern traitor, Jorah Mormont, stepped forward and claimed that she, like Cersei Lannister, was a threat that needed to be kept away from the Mother of Dragons.

Arya wanted to laugh. If she wanted to kill Daenerys Targaryen, the woman would already be dead.

Her brother immediately came to her defense, although it was visibly weak, his emotions wreaking havoc on his face as he tried to decide what he really thought of his little sister.

Sansa made a diplomatic remark, stating that Arya wouldn’t kill anyone unless asked to. Littlefinger was dead because Sansa herself had given the command.

This caused another reaction on her brother’s face, another dagger in Arya’s heart.

This whole conversation was honestly pointless, her brother eventually brought up. She wasn’t the real threat here.

Jorah quickly reminded him that no matter what, all assassins have a price, and a war was a perfect time to strike.

This struck a wrong cord with Arya. These people knew nothing about her, and yet felt emboldened to make such claims. This is where the conversation would stop.

She pointedly told them to inform her when they made a decision. In the meantime she would prepare for the real troubles ahead.

And before any of her siblings could respond, she left the Great Hall, her first instinct to get outside.

The cold air was soothing versus biting. She welcomed the feeling on her skin, the way it made her breath condense.

She could feel her mask starting to crumble. But she would be foolish to do anything out in the open, especially if someone followed her from the Great Hall.

Within moments she was passing by the smiths, who were hard at work forcing dragonglass to take their desired shape. She took in a sharp breath when she saw him. He was giving directions to another smith, motioning to the dragonglass in the less experienced man’s hands.

She watched him give the man a quick smile before he headed into the now encased forge. They had to build a structure around it once the winter winds picked up, threatening to put the fires out.

Before she knew it her feet took her to the wooden door, which opened within moments as a man stepped out. He muttered a quick apology as he lumbered past her.

She slipped inside before the door closed on its own.

She stood there silently, gazing at him as he stood over a table where weapon plans were laid out. She didn’t expect him to call out to push the rock against the door.

She glanced at her feet, seeing a giant rock that had disturbed the frozen earth from constantly being moved. It took her a bit of effort to move it against the door with one foot, understanding that the winds would keep blowing it open otherwise.

She turned back to him, but he still hadn’t looked up.

Even a wolf would have struggled to hear her footsteps as she made her way over to him.

When she was an arm’s length from him, he turned, feeling a person was close to him, but was shocked to see it was her.

He was about to say something, no doubt about how a lady shouldn’t be there, when she silenced him with a kiss.

He stood there rigidly, but after some moments he moved to pull her towards him, deepening their contact.

She snaked her arms around his neck, wanting nothing more than to become part of him, to forget herself.

She wanted to forget what had just happened in the Great Hall. She wanted to forget those faces, forget that her brother’s confidence in her wavered.

But suddenly reality hit her, and she let it take control. She broke the kiss and shoved Gendry hard, forcing the smith to grab onto the edge of the table so he wouldn’t fall over.

He looked angry in that moment, accusatory words leaving his mouth, when he stopped, his eyes wide.

She was crying, which he had realized before she did. Arya clenched her teeth as she fiercely wiped the tears away.

He reached for her, but she stepped back.

 _This isn’t love_ , she told herself. _This isn’t anything_.

She didn’t wait for him to ask what was wrong. And she ignored her name as he called after her.

She smashed the door into the rock, and almost growled as she brought both hands up to pull the door harder.

But suddenly a larger hand appeared and pushed against the door. She didn’t let go, and turned her head slightly to look at him, her teeth practically bared.

His eyes were burning with emotion. She could see the anger, the pain, and the lust. She wanted to mock him, make a cruel joke about how hard it must be for a man to not get what he truly wants.

He moved a foot forward and securely pushed the rock back against the door, his eyes never leaving hers. She finally let go and fully faced him.

In that moment she wanted nothing more then to bury her dagger into his neck. But that was instinct talking. It took her an extra beat to push the emotion down, to get some semblance of control back.

“Why you runnin’?” His voice was husky, which sent an involuntary shiver up her spine.

“I’m not,” she retorted with a harsh tone.

He took a step forward, almost directly standing above her. “You are,” he practically growled.

Her hand instinctively found Needle’s pommel. She saw his eyes noticed the movement, which caused a smirk to tug at his lips.

“Gunna kill me, m’lady?”

Her eyes narrowed at his tone. It was almost haughty, as if he didn’t believe that she could. “You know I can,” she said after some time, her voice icy.

He leaned down, and she could feel his breath tickling her forehead. “Aye, but a threat’s a threat. Don’t mean you’d do it.”

She gripped her weapon’s hilt harder. “Who said it was a threat?” a sneer dancing across her face.

He barked out a laugh and straightened up. “M’lady is good at keepin’ promises.” He then returned to the table, unconcerned that his back was to an assassin.

“Unlike you,” she snarled, her eyes almost slits.

She saw him tense at the comment and quickly decided to deliver another verbal blow.

“I never said I wouldn’t serve a lord. I never betrayed my friends.”

He suddenly turned to her, his own fists clenched. “That’s whut you think? That I betrayed you?”

She didn’t feel like responding, her expression saying more than enough as his face became a mixture of guilt and anger.

“I was betrayed,” he took a step forward, his hand over his heart. “By my own family,” he spat out. “They wanted to burn me alive, wanted my blood for-“ He gritted his teeth, not even sure what to say.

“And here you are,” her tone almost mocking. “Serving the family you said would never be your family.”

She could see in his eyes that he was remembering that night, the night where Arya Stark offered a piece of her heart, and the bastard smith used status as an excuse to politely decline it.

He looked away from her, his face pained. “I didn’t want…”

“What?” she finally snapped at him, which she noticed made him slightly jump. “What did Gendry, bastard of the great King Robert Baratheon, not want?” She saw his eyes widen in surprise, a question on his lips. “Jon told me.”

He closed his mouth, his shoulders now holding all his body’s tenseness. “You deserve better…than a bastard.”

A huge silence lingered in the air before she practically cackled. She saw him freeze, and she honestly hadn’t expected her body to react like that either.

“I don’t deserve anything,” laughter still seeping through her voice. “Nor do I want anyone.”

She saw his eyes grow soft at this, his mouth forming a hard line.

“When you join the Faceless Men…you give up your titles, your past, and most importantly your name.” All emotion was gone from her voice now, her face blank. “You become no one.”

“And are you,” his eyes looked like they were pleading with hers, “no one?”

She blinked, remembering that moment after she delivered the Waif’s face instead of her own.

“I am Arya Stark,” she said solemnly. “And no one will take that from me.”

His fingers fidgeted at his side as he gave a small nod.

She started to walk towards him, his face once again surprised.

“I’ll ask you again,” she stopped when she was a foot in front of him. “What is it that you want?”

His eyebrows furrowed at her question. He looked away for a bit before returning his gaze to hers. There was determination in his eyes now, along with something else.

“You,” he breathed softly.

Before she could react, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers. Like him earlier, she was frozen. But before she could decide how to react, he broken the kiss.

She could feel heat creeping into her cheeks as he looked down at her, his face flushed as well.

She would never tell him this, but she had always loved his eyes. She could never lie to his eyes. They had the uncanny ability to pierce through her soul.

“You can’t fix me,” she told him softly as she let her eyes drift to the ground. “I’ll never be whole.”

She looked up when she heard him chuckle, a small smile on his face. He really was quite handsome.

“Apparently bastards and broken things go together.”

She couldn’t help but frown, which made him laugh.

“Somethin’ I heard your brother tell Lord Tyrion.”

She let a smile tug at her lips as she pictured them in her mind.

“And you’re not broken Arya,” his voice pulling her from her thoughts. “Just scarred, like the rest of us.”

She considered his words, somewhat warmed by his simple comment. “A nice sentiment,” she finally told him.

He watched her, ready to say something when they heard a large thud and a curse. They both looked towards the door and heard Davos yell for Gendry to move whatever damn thing he had blocking it.

She saw him grin, laughter on his lips as he headed to the door. She couldn’t help but genuinely smile at his back.

Maybe something good came out of this after all.


End file.
